


It Is Before That, And Colder

by zjofierose



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, First Meetings, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Politics, more like talking past each other really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21857242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: “HABITATION” BY MARGARET ATWOODMarriage is nota house or even a tentit is before that, and colder:the edge of the forest, the edgeof the desertthe unpainted stairsat the back where we squatoutside, eating popcornthe edge of the receding glacierwhere painfully and with wonderat having survived eventhis farwe are learning to make fire--King Shirogane of Atlas and Crown Prince Keith Kogane of Marmora stand a chance of reunifying their countries via an arranged marriage. But what does that mean for them personally?
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 186
Collections: Sheith Reverse Big Bang 2019





	1. King Shirogane Takashi II of Atlas

**Author's Note:**

> My reverse bang fic for the [wonderful art of @belcrah!!](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EMMFt-sWwAAosum?format=jpg&name=4096x4096) This was a blast to write, and I hope you all enjoy it! Nothing like a good ol' royalty period romance...
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, @quazydellasue, who is very gracious when I message her and say, "so this is supposed to post in two days and I'm still writing it, but can you take a look?"

_ Now _

“On a scale of one to  _ ‘feed me to a dragon if I’m lying,’ _ how sure are you about this, Shiro?”

“Matt,” Shiro’s voice is annoyed, but his smile is fond as he slides the gem-encrusted cufflinks into place. It’s midwinter, the day of the solstice, and the low light of the weak winter sun glints off the polished metal adorning him from head to heels. “I’m sure, alright?” He straightens his collar in the looking glass and turns to scrutinize the appearance of his man-at-arms and best friend. “Besides, even if I weren’t, it’s a little late to back out now, don’t you think?”

Matt snorts, tossing his sandy brown hair out of his eyes. “ _ Yes _ ,” he agrees fervently, then sobers. “But if you didn’t want to go through with it,” he tells Shiro, voice grave, “you know I’d help you escape.”

“I know,” Shiro sets a hand on Matt’s shoulder, the metal of his many rings clanking against Matt’s ceremonial armor. “And I can’t tell you how grateful I am.” Matt smiles, the wide Holt grin that’s been such an enduring part of Shiro’s life, through ups and downs, through thick and thin. Matt’s hazel eyes are suspiciously shiny, and Shiro takes a deep breath lest his own begin to match. “Come on, I’m not going to be late to my own wedding.” He draws himself up, squaring his shoulders and facing the door. If he’s got a few butterflies… okay, a few birds of prey… fluttering around in his stomach, well, he’s been trained with a political poker face from day one. No one ever has to know.

—

_ Before _

“You want to do  _ what _ ?” Iverson’s growl is not angry so much as incredulous, but Shiro can see Commander Holt stroking his chin thoughtfully across the table. “What put this fool idea in your head, boy?”

Shiro shrugs delicately, the picture of nonchalance. It’s late spring, the first beautiful day of the year, and Shiro would give nearly anything to be out in the gardens with his foster-sister Katie, or riding his horse with Matt at his side, or really to be doing almost anything other than trying to convince a council of his generals and advisors that he should marry a political rival. He suppresses a sigh. He’s got no one to blame for this meeting but himself.

“You said it yourself not two weeks ago,” Shiro answers calmly, “I’ve been king for the better part of a decade now, but I’ve yet to marry. I’ve no potential suitors in mind, strategic or personal, nor any compelling reasons to continue to put off marriage.”

“Yes, but,” Iverson starts, and Shiro cuts him off with a gesture.

“Meanwhile, the reunification movement has been building for years, and with the recently increased free trade across the borders, larger and more powerful factions are coming on board. Atlas and Marmora were one country once, maybe not in living memory, but within the last four generations. Families along the borders have not forgotten, even if the royal houses have stayed separate.”

“ _ Still… _ ” Iverson sputters, but Shiro continues.

“Reunification would benefit the Atlassean economy, and would be of even greater benefit to Marmora, who lost much of their access to arable land in the division, and who have been struggling the last few years with crop failure. They have no reason beyond pride to refuse, and we have no reason beyond selfishness not to offer.”

“The Crown Prince of Marmora is single and of age,” Commander Holt muses, “as I’m sure Your Highness is aware.”

“I have made no official inquiries,” Shiro says, and Holt’s eye twinkles knowingly. “However, if he and the Queen were amenable, it seems that it could be a productive alliance for all concerned.” 

“There are other options for a marriage, if you are simply looking to be wed,” Advisor Montgomery points out reasonably from the far side of the table. “Princess Allura of Altea is of an age with you, and as yet unpromised, for example. Or you could look inside the kingdom; Lord Adam of the Garrison Reach, or even your foster-sister, young Lady Holt.”

Shiro nods his head in acknowledgment. “Your point is acknowledged, Advisor. However, there is little to gain from marrying inside the kingdom - while I hold Katie in the highest esteem, I do view her as a sister, as she views me as a brother, and I have no wish to change the nature of that relationship.” 

Commander Holt chuckles from the end of the table. “It’s for the best,” he says, tone wry, “Katie may love you dearly, but she’d make a dreadful queen.”

Shiro tries to picture Katie in a dress and a crown, and has to look away to repress a laugh. “Lord Adam is even less a useful candidate,” Shiro continues, schooling his voice into reasonableness. “While a loyal and well-bred nobleman, a union with him would bring no real benefit to the country beyond solidifying existing ties.”

“And the Princess Allura?” It’s General Sanda this time, the most challenging member of his council, both literally and figuratively. Shiro bites his tongue before he replies. 

“The Princess Allura is a dear friend, and a reasonable suggestion. However, it is my understanding that her heart lies elsewhere.”

“Hearts come second to the games of politics,” Sanda replies, and Shiro forces himself not to twitch. 

“When there is need, they do,” he agrees, “but Altea has been a long-time ally of Atlas; there is no need to ask her to renounce her attachment in favor of strengthening ties with us. Better to let her follow her heart, and then enter into additional relations down the line - fostering her children with mine, for example, or introducing additional trade agreements.”

“Do you think Marmora will agree to this, Shiro?” Commander Holt asks, and Shiro can tell the question is genuine.

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “But with the council’s leave, I’d like to write to Queen Krolia with the idea, and see what she has to say.” He pauses, meeting the eyes of each and every person in the room. “Do I have your leave?”

There’s a moment of long silence, but then Sanda nods. “You have it, Your Majesty. However,” she makes a note on a piece of paper beside her. “Please bear in mind that your communication is exploratory in nature  _ only _ ; any agreements will need to bear the signed approval of the full council.”

“Of course, General.” Shiro bows to the room at large. “My thanks for your consideration.”

\--

_ Now _

The wedding ceremony is to be a small one - while the reunification ceremonies during which the treaties will be signed to re-join Marmora and Atlas as New Voltron will be huge festivals which take place over several days, the actual legal joining of the young Atlassean King with the Marmoran Crown Prince will be swift and simple. It had been at the Prince’s request, but it makes sense - there needs to be a first official step taken at some point, and their legal union is as good a place to start as any. The festivals will occur in the summer, at the climax of all the treaty negotiations, and will culminate with the coronation of them both as Co-Regents of New Voltron.

This… this is just for them.

Shiro pauses outside the tall wooden doors to his small receiving room. He knows who will be on the other side of the door: Commander Holt, his most trusted advisor since the death of his parents and grandfather. Sir Matt Holt, his best friend and man at arms, and Matt’s sister and Shiro’s foster-sister, Lady Katherine Holt. Generals Iverson, Montgomery, and Sanda, as witnesses. Queen Krolia of Marmora and her First Commander, Kolivan. And, last, but very much not least, her son - Crown Prince Keith of Marmora, future Co-Regent of New Voltron, and Shiro’s betrothed.

He raises his hands and sets them to the wood, pushing hard and throwing the doors open with an authoritative swish. The sunlight is beaming through the windows, gilding the interior of the well-appointed room with golden light, deceptively warm against the frost patterns that etch themselves across the leaded glass.

“King Shirogane Takashi,” Commander Holt says, standing, and the rest of the room stands with him. Shiro inclines his head. 

“Commander Holt,” he says, “Generals.” They salute, and he returns the gesture before turning to face the other side of the room. “Your Majesty,” he says, and bows slightly to Queen Krolia, elegant and regal in her tight-fitting armor and her purple updo. They are equals in rank, but he figures it can’t hurt to be a little overly polite to his very-shortly-to-be mother-in-law. 

“King Shirogane,” she replies, tipping her head gracefully in acknowledgment. 

“Shiro, please,” he says, and she nods, a faint smile quirking at the corner of her lips. 

“Shiro,” she says, and he smiles at her. She’s beautiful and fierce, a determined and respected monarch whom he’s always admired. He wonders what she really thinks of her son choosing to abdicate his ancestral throne, how long the discussions were between mother and son about the dissolution of their country in favor of the larger goal of reunification. 

And then… “Crown Prince Keith Kogane,” Krolia says, stepping slightly to the side and gesturing, “my son.”

Shiro knows what Keith looks like - he’s seen him several times before, in many different situations, albeit mostly from a distance. Still, Shiro’s never seen him like this, and it takes his breath away, leaves him gaping like a fish.

Keith is a vision in the glowing light of the room, smaller than his tall mother but with her same fine bones and penetrating dark stare. His black hair is tied back from his face in an intricate series of braids and knotwork that hangs halfway down his back, wound through with delicate chains, as strong as they are lovely. Where his mother wears an angled black over-bodice and full trousers of deepest purple, Crown Prince Keith Kogane’s black jacket fits tight through the sleeves and chest to his trim waist, then flares wide and long, swirling around the tight legs of his ox-blood leggings and his knee-high black boots. His face is clear and composed, the only movement the faint widening of his beautiful eyes as their gazes lock.

Shiro feels at once gaudy and underdressed now that he’s faced with the Marmoran royalty - they’re ostensibly his distant relations, but he sees nothing of his family in their faces. Where his parents and grandparents were square of jaw and broad of shoulder, large imposing people with kind hearts, the Marmorans are wiry and narrow-framed, with sharp features and a gaze that flays through insincerity.

Shiro’s never seen anyone so beautiful in all his life. 

“My prince,” he says, stepping forward to take Keith’s hand. Keith offers it slowly, and Shiro can’t read the look on his face, but he’s already sliding to one knee and pressing a kiss to the back of Crown Prince Kogane’s fingers. “I bid you welcome.”

Keith’s stare is completely opaque, but he inclines his head respectfully, stepping forward from his mother’s side to join Shiro in front of the palace priest. “My lord Shirogane,” he says, and Shiro nearly chokes at the sound of his voice, deep and rasping. It’s been years since he’s heard it, and even then never this close. 

“Your Majesties,” the priest interrupts, “if you’d like to begin?”

Shiro searches Keith’s face, but finds nothing but a cool detachment. It’s… disheartening, if he’s honest, but he can hardly blame the prince - he’s on stage, as it were; they both are, and for all that it’s a small ceremony, it’s still dreadfully important to both those gathered in the room with them, and also to all the countries for a thousand miles around. 

“Please,” Shiro says, straightening and turning so that Keith stands parallel to him, facing the priest. 

The ceremony is brief, and Shiro barely hears it. He makes sure to murmur his assent in all the important places, and he gathers his wits enough to slide his mother’s ring onto Keith’s slender finger where it fits like it was made for him. He can barely stop staring as Keith slides its mate onto Shiro’s own hand. Keith’s fingers are cool, but rough from the saddle and the sword, callused from long hours of writing and the practice of many arts. 

“I now pronounce you married in the eyes of the law and the gods,” the priest says, marking the holy blessing over their joined hands, and suddenly there’s a rushing in Shiro’s ears like a thousand drums. “If you could please sign the documents?”

Shiro signs his name like he’s in a dream and affixes his royal seal, then watches as Crown Prince Kogane and Queen Krolia do the same, followed by Commander Holt. An aide blots the ink and assures that the seals are cool before rolling it up and tying it, taking it away to be copied and then stored in the royal archives.

He turns to his side, to his  _ husband _ , and offers his arm. There’s a pause, hardly longer than a beat, and then Keith’s grip is sliding around his arm, firm and strong. Shiro can’t help but smile as they step out into the hallway and the applause of the assembled guards and palace staff. It feels right, stepping forward with Keith at his side.

It’s new, but that’s the point of it - they will make a new relationship and a new country, a new life and a new world, and they’ll do it  _ together _ , hand in hand.

Shiro can’t wait.

\--

_ Before _

“You’re sure you want to do this, Your Highness?” Commander Holt’s voice is gently cautious, a reminder as always of Shiro’s youth and relative inexperience. Somehow he never manages to make it grate, never strays across the line from concern to condescension, and it’s one of the reasons that Shiro trusts Commander Holt so implicitly. Shiro’s judgment isn’t being questioned; rather, he’s being given an opportunity to reconsider, an out if he needs it.

“Shiro,” he corrects absently, tying on his sword belt. “And yes, Sam, I’m sure. I need to learn how things work when people aren’t aware there’s royalty around.”

Sam Holt makes a noncommittal noise and inspects Shiro’s garb with a critical eye. “Well, you’ll pass as a nobleman well enough until you open your mouth, anyway.” He chuckles at the indignant look that blooms on Shiro’s face. “Just remember - only speak when you’re spoken to,” he says, and pats Shiro firmly on the back. “A good retainer doesn’t offer opinions unless asked directly.”

Shiro opens his mouth to protest, but closes it again, cheeks heating with amusement and chagrin. “Yes sir, Commander,” he says, not missing the twinkle in the other man’s eye.

“There’s a good lad!” Commander Holt grins widely, and opens the door. “Now, let’s go inspect these troops.”

\--

The troop inspection is only the beginning of the day’s events, Shiro following along closely behind Commander Holt as he goes over line after line of foot soldiers and cavalry men, delivering gentle reprimands where needed and doling out praise freely. Shiro has a page’s hat over his head and he keeps his face down, working to stay as unobtrusive as possible while absorbing everything he can of the culture of these people who serve beneath him. It shouldn’t be hard; his face is not widely known outside the palace walls, in spite of his status as the Crown Prince - his grandfather has ruled for so long at this point, his face on all the coins, all the statues, that Shiro thinks half the country forgets that Shiro himself even exists. 

After the inspections come the tourney, and Shiro takes a seat in the stands behind Commander Holt, his eyes widening as a band of purple-and-black clad foot soldiers enters the arena.

“What are Marmorans doing here?” he hisses under his breath, and Sam turns his head to regard the new arrivals.

“This tourney is one of two annual war game events we share with Marmora,” he answers, “it’s a friendly test of skill, a way for new recruits to test their skills against a ‘real’ opponent.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Shiro asks, eyes roving over the Marmoran troops. The smallest of them is at their head, for all intents and purposes like he’s their leader though he hardly looks older than twelve. “What if something goes wrong, and tensions flare up?”

Commander Holt shrugs. “Both our forces and theirs are well-trained, and our countries have been allies since the separation. Even if a fight did break out, it would be dealt with quickly and I have no fears that it would escalate to the level of a diplomatic incident.” He turns, points out at the field. “That’s their crown prince leading them; it’s his first year here.”

“Keith Kogane,” Shiro murmurs, the name floating to his tongue as his eyes lock onto the small figure with new interest. “They bring their crown prince to fight in a tournament?”

“The Marmorans were always very skilled soldiers,” Holt tells him, turning his head so that Shiro can hear him as the horns blow to announce the start of the skirmish. “It’s part of how their bid for independence was so successful - they made up a full half of Voltron-That-Was’ armed forces. If the rest of the country had wanted to go to war over it, it would have ruined us both.”

“And since there was no love lost between the sisters in the first place, the split was chilly, but amicable,” Shiro mutters, the history of his country drilled into him since he could walk. It’s his own twice-great grandmother and her twin he’s talking about, but it feels very abstract to him. Even his own grandfather had barely known Queen Shirogane Misato; she’d died when he was a young boy, and her daughter had ascended the throne in her place. There are portraits of her throughout the palace, of course, and she is recognized and hailed as the founder of Atlas, the larger remainder of Voltron-That-Was, but Shiro’s never felt any particular connection to his illustrious forebearer. 

Images of Queen Shirogane Misato’s sister, Queen Shirogane Saeri, her literal darker twin, are less common, but Shiro is familiar with the face of his thrice-great aunt as well. Keith Kogane’s great-great grandmother, he realizes now, and wonders fleetingly whether portraits of his own ancestor hang in Keith’s home like Queen Saeri hangs in his.

“Yes,” Commander Holt agrees, pulling Shiro’s attention back to the conversation. “A reasonably amicable split, at least at the governmental level. It was harder on the common folk, especially those along the borders, or those with businesses in both countries.” He sighs, and the sounds of blades echo from below them as the two groups of fighters close with each other. “Which is why, now, even a hundred and fifty years later, the factions in favor of reunification are stronger than ever.”

Shiro hums politely in response, but his attention is already gone, locked onto the small figure on the field who is weaving and darting and leaving a path of havoc in his wake. It’s breath-taking, riveting, the way Keith Kogane fights, and Shiro finds himself clutching at his knees as he watches the crown prince of Marmora lay waste to his own troops. 

The battle ends quickly, the Atlassean forces defeated handily and Crown Prince Kogane standing untouched in front of them, graciously accepting their surrender. He peels off his helm, and the sun glints on the inky-black of his hair, his face even younger than his narrow frame. 

“Wow,” Shiro breathes, “he -”

“You think that’s something, you should see his  _ mother _ fight,” Sam tells him dryly, and laughs.

\--

_ Now _

Crown Prince Keith Kogane plays along perfectly, a picture of grace and poise, exactly like someone raised to rule should be expected to do. This, Shiro tells himself, is how it takes him several hours to figure out that he is being carefully, thoroughly, snubbed. 

His new husband sits beside him all through the festal dinner; he raises his glass at the toasts, smiles at every greeting, tastes every dish presented to him and gives a gracious and specific compliment to the flavor. He is the epitome of a royal spouse, resplendent and reserved, and Shiro is delighted at first.

And yet. As the evening wears on, Shiro notices how Prince Kogane sits as close to Shiro as required in order not to seem aloof, but not an inch closer. He will not resist Shiro taking his hand in order to raise it or hold it on top of the table, but he will break the grip as soon as reasonably polite. He turns his face to Shiro and laughs and smiles and makes conversation, but he never  _ quite _ meets Shiro’s eyes, never  _ quite _ holds his gaze.

It stings a bit, if Shiro’s honest - sure, they don’t know each other well, and yes, this is a political marriage, but they’ve met before, they’d exchanged letters. Shiro hadn’t expected Keith to fall loving into his arms, but he’d hoped for something more than this careful, cold cordiality.

Nonetheless, he knows his duty as well as Prince Kogane seems to, and he carries on with the feast, refusing to show his disappointment. This is an alliance, a  _ marriage _ , that he campaigned for, and which he needs his people to support. If there’s any whiff that he’s having cold feet or regrets of any kind, it jeopardizes the whole treaty, and he is unwilling to give an inch now that he’s dragged them all so far.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of revelry, all underlain with the precise amount of space Prince Kogane maintains between them. Shiro thinks he may grow to hate it, that exact distance, the chilly expanse that holds rigidly between them. He wants to push it, wants to break past it with force, but he knows better than to give in to petty urges. Even if he were lucky enough to not have the prince slide a knife between his ribs for the courtesy, he’d do irreparable damage to any possibility of a conciliatory future between them.

“My lord,” Shiro says at the end of the feast, standing to his feet among a raucous round of cheers and holding out a hand to his companion. Prince Kogane accepts it with utmost courtesy and not a hint of warmth, turning and bowing to the assembled gathering before he lets Shiro pull him away from the dais and into the back hall. 

Keith drops his hand as soon as they’re out of sight of the guards, and Shiro suppresses a sigh. Did Keith want this alliance at all? He’d seemed agreeable enough, even in favor of it, but now Shiro wonders - was he coerced? Did meeting Shiro again change his mind? Worse yet, Shiro thinks with sudden alarm, did Keith leave someone behind in Marmora?

“My lord,” Keith interrupts him abruptly, and Shiro shakes his thoughts away, turning to face his new husband, who has paused in the corridor. “Would you be so kind as to show me to my quarters?”

His voice is beautiful and vacant, the request utterly neutral in tone.  _ So much _ , Shiro thinks,  _ for starting off on the right foot. _ He offers his elbow and smiles.

“Of course,” he says, waiting pointedly until Keith reluctantly slips a hand into the crook of his arm. “It would be my pleasure.”

The responding smile he receives could cut ice.

\--

“He hates me, Matt,” Shiro moans, flat on his back and already running late to his council meeting. 

“He doesn’t hate you.” The exasperation in Matt’s voice is familiar and fond, and Shiro thanks the gods once again that he has such a long-suffering friend. “He just… needs to take a minute to warm up to you. It’s a big change, you know? Giving up your throne, leaving your family, moving to another country.”

“I know,” Shiro says softly, and the truth of it is, he does. He’s well aware that he comes off the better in this bargain, equal standing before the law or no - it’s his palace, his courtiers. It may now be Keith’s country in name as well, but the history here is all Shiro’s. “I just… I don’t know what to do about it. I want him to be comfortable here, at the very least.”

“Shiro,” Matt leans over and scrubs his knuckles hard into Shiro’s hair before breaking away laughing as Shiro swipes good naturedly at him. “I know you are the least patient person on the face of the earth, regardless of how many poker faces you’ve had to learn for sitting through diplomatic meetings. But this may be one of those times where the only thing you can do is wait.”

Shiro groans dramatically, burying his face in his hands. “But what if patience doesn’t fix it? What if something’s actually wrong?”

“Well,” Matt shrugs, pushing at Shiro with his foot from where he’s sprawled in an armchair. “You could start by talking to him.”

\--

_ Before _

The first time they communicate directly, crown prince to king, is upon the occasion of his grandfather’s passing; the loss was not unexpected, but there’s a special kind of difficulty in having to observe a state funeral and then his own coronation within the week, having to stand and address his people (who are now truly  _ his _ ) without the support of family or any space to grieve. The kingdom takes precedence over everything, it’s what Shiro’s been taught and what he believes, and so he dresses in all black and watches as his grandfather is laid to rest in the family crypt, then dons the purple cape of his new rank and stands mute and impassive as the heavy Shirogane crown is lowered onto his brow.

The people applaud him, but his heart is as empty and cold as the winter landscape that surrounds the castle, stripped bare by bitter winds.

All of their allies send their condolences, of course - Altea and Olkari and all the rest. Queen Krolia of Marmora sends a lovely card in her personal handwriting with her sincere condolences, and Shiro tries to find it within himself to be grateful at the gesture. He remembers meeting her as a child, remembers how grand and regal she’d seemed, though at the time she must not have been too much older than he is now. 

He nearly misses the smaller card that falls to the floor when he lifts the Marmoran envelope, but it makes just enough noise as it hits the marble floor that Shiro turns to see it lying at his feet. It’s small, and made of just as expensive a paper as Queen Krolia’s, but the writing on the envelope is different, and not one that he recognizes. He flips it over, but there’s no signature on the outside of the envelope, so he pulls his belt knife and slits it open, sliding the enclosed note free.

It’s a brief note, nothing in it that isn’t in any of the others, but there’s a heartfelt quality to the short lines that pulls at Shiro, makes him read it over again before he loses himself staring at the signature. Keith Kogane, Crown Prince of Marmora. 

It’s unexpected, and there are tears in his eyes before he realizes he’s crying, undone by the simple unprompted expression of support from a peer, sobbing silently into his hands until his foster-sister finds him many minutes later.

“Shiro,” she whispers, wrapping her small arms around his neck and letting him bury his face in her bony shoulder. “There, there.”

“I’m sorry, Pidge” Shiro murmurs when he’s pulled himself mostly together, wiping at his eyes with his coat sleeve and straightening his collar. 

“It’s okay,” she tells him, setting her hands on his shoulders and staring him in the eye with all the seriousness she can muster at fifteen. “You’re allowed to be sad, Shiro. The world won’t end.” She leans over and picks up the envelope lying on the table behind him. “What’s this?”

“A condolence note,” Shiro tells her, and ducks his head, “from the Crown Prince of Marmora.”

“Oooh,” Pidge grins mischievously at him. “From ‘he’s so pretty’ Keith Kogane? From ‘Pidge, I saw him fight and he moves like a miracle’ Keith? That one?” 

Shiro swipes at the note, but Pidge dances out of his reach, laughing. 

“You mean, Keith ‘I saw him teaching little street kids in the Marmora capital tricks with his dagger and I nearly swooned’ Kogane? That one? Or is it from Crown Prince ‘I overheard him talking with Allura about instituting basic income policies to combat poverty and my heart escaped from my body’?”

She dances a hair too close and Shiro seizes the opportunity, snatching the note back and shoving it into his pocket. “Yes,” he nods solemnly, “that one. I’ll have to show it to-” 

The realization washes over him all at once, and it’s like an undertow that keeps sucking him down. His grandfather is gone now, and will never see this note, will never smile indulgently as Shiro tells him about all of Keith’s finer qualities, will never tease Shiro as he waits for a letter or angles to go to a meeting to which he knows Marmora will be sending a representative.

“Oh, Shiro,” Pidge wraps him in her arms again, and he’s sobbing like a child, clutching at her dress. “There, there. There, there.”

\--

_ Now _

Shiro is a traditionalist at heart, plans to upend his country in the name of reunification notwithstanding, and so the only thing he can think of in the days after the wedding, during the days when Keith is holed up in his room steadfastly ignoring him, is that he and Keith have not had a proper courtship. 

What they’ve had, instead, is an unofficial query sent via Keith’s mother; a series of council approved negotiations; a litany of questions and concerns and potentialities shared via letter; and an official offer signed by the entirety of their respective councils and again, Keith’s mother. 

Romance, Shiro thinks, is dead. It’s up to him to revive it.

\--

_ Before _

Shiro rises early in the morning, and dresses himself for battle. Battle of the political sort, anyway, which is at least as challenging as the military kind, even if it does involve less literal blood and guts. 

“Gonna convince them to let you have your prince?” Matt asks wryly from the window seat where he’s watching as Shiro’s chambermen do up the hundred little clasps of his coat and affix his cape firmly to his shoulders. Shiro dismisses them with a wave, standing before the mirror and squaring his shoulders as he lowers the crown onto his own head, making sure it sits straight and clear across his brow. He’s chosen this crown specifically, and he knows the symbolism won’t be wasted on his council - it’s the crown of Shirogane Takashi I, father of the sisters who split their inheritance and their country in half, last king of Voltron-That-Was. Now it graces the brow of a descendant who bears his name and would restore his rule.

“Yes,” Shiro tells him, and turns to the door.

\--

The walk from his chambers to the council room is long, and Shiro’s mind churns, tumbling over his arguments, his plans and declarations. He’s been on the throne for seven years now, is a man grown, but going before the council never fails to make him feel twelve again, like a green boy telling his elders and betters what he wants while wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

He expects a certain amount of opposition - talks have gone smoothly over the past six months, with Queen Krolia and her son both open to the possibility not only of marriage, but of reunification as well. However, it has been a century and a half, and just as the original split destabilized the economies of both kingdoms, a reunification invites a certain amount of instability into the markets as well as traders and farmers and manufacturers who may previously have had a national contract or monopoly are suddenly forced to renegotiate. Further, there are nobles and commoners alike on both sides with nationalistic fervor who don’t want to see their own country fade into the mists of time, even if it’s in a return to an even older nationalism than the one they profess.

And yet. Shiro is convinced this is the correct choice. His own country is too beholden to its neighbors; losing Marmora took away nearly all of their mining and mineral resources, as well as the best of their military and a wealth of scholars and skilled craftspeople. They’re doing alright without it, but they would clearly benefit from a reunion nonetheless. 

However, Queen Krolia has been far more forthcoming than Shiro had expected regarding the state of Marmora - being largely mountainous, their food supply is dependant on subsistence farming and trade, which held well for them for a hundred years. The last fifty, though, have seen severe droughts which have plagued not only Marmora, but also their nearest non-Atlas neighbors, upon whom Marmora had depended for trade and food imports. They’re not to the point of starvation, and Queen Krolia’s grasp on the throne remains reasonably secure, but Shiro can hear the faint desperation that seeps through her letters, a desire to do better by her people than she can with the resources at her disposal.

Keith… Keith has said little about it directly, beyond his agreement with his mother that Marmora would benefit, and that the factions who oppose it are small enough and weak enough not to present a significant obstacle. His letters are full of the terms he would want to see, a detailed analysis combined with a confident pragmatism that has Shiro weak at the knees. 

It’s this that he knows will be the largest affront to his council - not only does he wish to marry the Crown Prince of Marmora and reunify their countries, he wishes to do so under very,  _ very _ generous terms.

The doors to the council room open, and he is announced.  _ Ancestors _ , he whispers silently,  _ gods, guide me now. _

“Esteemed Council Members,” Shiro begins, standing tall in front of the table rather than taking a seat. He pulls a scroll from his belt and lays it on the table. “I come before you today to announce my intentions to take Crown Prince Keith Kogane as my lawful wedded husband and to rule jointly with him as Co-Regent of New Voltron under the following conditions.”


	2. Crown Prince Keith Kogane of Marmora

_ Now _

A page brings the first bouquet of flowers to Keith’s quarters, beautiful and exotic, deep reds and purples interspersed with delicate white blooms. They’re gorgeous, and Keith hardly knows what to think, so he has the page set them by the window where they catch the light. 

It’s only once the page has departed that Keith notices the card attached, and opens it, curious. 

_ Dear Keith _ , it reads, in what Keith knows is Shiro’s own hand,  _ I hope that you are settling in well. Please don’t hesitate to ask for anything you want or need. Yours, Shiro. _

_ Yours _ , Keith thinks,  _ Shiro _ . That’s laying it on a bit thick, isn’t it? They are married, he supposes, running his thumb over the lovely, delicate ring that sits on his finger, but it’s not like it’s a love match. 

Still, the flowers are lovely.

\--

The next gift comes at the same time the following afternoon - this time a page brings him a stack of books, heavy and old, but well-maintained. Confusion must show on his face, because the page places them on the desk in his quarters and steps back carefully. 

“The history of Atlas, as penned by her monarchs,” the page says, and Keith gapes. The private journals of the last three regents of Atlas? Surely not. The level of trust inherent in such a gift is ridiculous. “Please notify me when you no longer require them, and I shall return them to the palace archives,” the page adds, and Keith nods dumbly in response. 

He can hardly bring himself to touch them once the page leaves his room, reaching out with a careful finger to stroke the rich leather of the bindings. It’s too much, and Keith doesn’t know what to make of it, even once he finds the note.

_ Dearest Keith, _ it reads,  _ I thought you might like to know a little more about the history of Atlas than I imagine your tutors would have taught you. Much of it is very dry, but watch out for Great-Grandmother Shirogane’s twenty-fifth year of rule. Scandal! _

Keith tucks the note into the cover of the first book, and starts to read.

\--

The next few weeks continue much the same: each day a new gift appears, with some sort of note attached. First the flowers, then the journals, and from there it’s a set of beautifully worked leather gloves; a pair of riding boots that fit him exquisitely; a new pocket telescope which allows him to view the Galran Reaches from his window in sharp definition; a beautiful, sleek, roan horse which he promptly names Red; and on, and on.

Each gift comes with a note detailing the item itself and noting any details he may need or want to know. Keith reads them, fingers tracing over the wavy patterns of dried ink, and tucks them into a small box he’d brought from Marmora, slipping them in under the ceremonial dagger.

Keith never writes back.

\--

The thing is, Keith cannot fathom why Shiro is doing such a thing, and it eats at him, gnaws into him until he’s twitchy and irritable with it. Is it just that Shiro wants to ensure Keith’s loyalty, and the best way is through bribes? Is it that he wants to solidify his power grab by ensuring that Keith is gratefully, submissively, loyal? Is it even as simple as just that Shiro wants to woo Keith in order to make him a biddable companion, easy to live with for the foreseeable future?

None of it sits well with Keith, and he starts to avoid his rooms at the time of delivery, making excuses to be out riding, or with the dogs in the yard, or sparring. Anything not to be confronted with evidence of Shiro’s stubborn persistence.

A month passes, then two, and Keith’s quarters are full nearly to bursting. He has clothing he suspects he’ll never wear; jewelry far too fine for his daily life; books he’s never read, weapons he’s never used, plants filling every corner and shelf, half of them in bloom and filling Keith’s quarters with a heady perfume that plagues him day and night as a reminder of the person he’s trying to forget.

The worst part is that none of it seems random - the gifts are often lavish, but never impersonal. Shiro seems to have made a study of Keith’s tastes, of what he likes but would never acquire for himself, and seeks out items that would suit. It’s maddening, this unending attention, and even more infuriating for the lack of sense Keith can make of it. Doesn’t Shiro have a kingdom to govern? Aren’t there treaties to negotiate, cases to adjudicate, parties to host and guests to impress?

It’s hypocritical, Keith knows- this is all by his own choosing, that he’s here at all. His mother would never have pressured him, but he could see the writing on the wall. Another several decades, gods willing, until his mother’s death and his own ascension to the throne; another several decades for his people to struggle and strive and starve unless he took the offered terms. Yes, there were other options, but none as good, and yet here he is, months into his arrangement, and unless he and Shiro are before the council or in meetings, he runs from the other man.

Knowing that it’s hypocritical and ridiculous does nothing helpful, and instead sinks Keith further into the foul mood that’s hung over him since the wedding night, so by the time Shiro finds him late one spring afternoon on the training ground, Keith has long since worked himself into a fury.

“My lord, well met!” Shiro calls out, and Keith turns to see him striding powerfully across the sparring ground, determination in his walk and a steely glint in his eye.  _ Ah _ , Keith thinks,  _ council went that well, then _ . He doesn’t resist the urge to bare his teeth and snarl. It only makes Shiro’s gaze sharpen with determined intent.

“A match?” Shiro asks, and it’s no question at all, not when they’re both keyed up and circling each other already. Keith has a practice blade in his hand; the wrong shape, but the right size and weight to mimic his own large dagger. Shiro grabs a staff from where it leans against the wall and Keith lowers himself into a ready stance.

“Council meeting went easily?” It’s a joke of pleasant small talk when Keith uses it to feint in and gauge the reach of Shiro’s arm when equipped with his staff. Shiro smacks at him without hesitation, and Keith dances nimbly out of the way. 

“It would’ve been better if you’d attended,” Shiro answers, swinging the staff through the air with ease, deceptively swift, and he must be  _ strong _ , Keith realizes, to whip it around as quick as he does. “You know, like the Co-Regent you are.”

Keith scoffs, darting in to stab at half a dozen tiny openings: an elbow, the back of a knee, an ankle. The staff beats at him in every spot, keeping him distant enough that to push his luck means gaining a welt. “What do you need  _ me _ there for? I’ve already signed the papers; the kingdom is yours.”

Shiro scowls. It’s the first time that Keith’s seen him make that particular expression, he thinks absently as Keith soars through the air and lands a slice between Shiro’s shoulder blades, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to split his training shirt open down the back. Air whistles past his head as the staff flashes past him. 

“You can’t be serious,” Shiro states flatly, his voice even, like he’s hardly working at all. “The country is  _ ours _ , that was half the point of this whole thing.”

“What was the other half,” Keith snarls viciously, spinning in and out, darting a hundred tiny cuts all over Shiro’s practice clothes. None of them would incapacitate, but in a battle, with a real blade, the pain and blood loss would tire his opponent quickly. “To avoid being married off to Lord Adam, or some other greedy noble whose name you can’t even remember?”

The staff catches him hard on the side and the air punches out of him all at once. Keith barely manages to jump in spite of the burning in his lungs, instinct carrying him above the swipe of the staff that would have knocked his feet out from under him. 

“No,” Shiro growls, voice low and dangerous, “The other half was  _ you _ .”

It’s too revealing, too aggressive in the wake of daily presents that Keith can barely accept, and Shiro must realize it as quickly as Keith does, because his face falls, and he lets the staff drop, hands spread wide. 

“Keith,” he says, “if you don’t want to be here…”

The look on Shiro’s face is unaccountably sad. Keith takes a running leap so he can stop looking at it, flying through the air as Shiro makes no attempt to block him, and ends with his dagger pricking the point of Shiro’s chin.

“If I don’t want to be here,  _ what _ ?” he asks, and his voice almost doesn’t shake. “You think that I would ever jeopardize my people by backing out  _ now _ ?”

“No,” Shiro whispers, certain as stone, and Keith runs.

\--

It doesn’t take Shiro long to find him. You can’t hide from a king in his own castle, Keith knows this, but he needed the time to collect himself anyway.

“Keith,” Shiro says eventually when he finds Keith in the kennels, hands buried in the fur of the enormous puppy he’s been visiting for the last month. “Please,” Shiro holds out a hand as Keith starts to stand, and Keith settles back to the floor, stroking the pup’s fur mindlessly as he stares at Shiro’s boots.

Shiro sighs. “Just hear me out.” He crouches down, and is immediately swarmed by the rest of the litter, falling backward with a low laugh as he’s covered by wagging furry butts. The pup Keith is petting ignores Shiro completely, and Keith suppresses a smile. Clearly he’d made the right choice, slipping this one treats week after week.

“I had hoped,” Shiro begins, “that I made it clear long before any agreements were signed that not only was this not something I would ever want to force on you, but that it was something that I wanted us to enter into together. As equals.”

“We’re not equals,” Keith tells him flatly, “you’re the king of a larger, more prosperous country, and I’m the heir to a struggling vassal nation.”

The dismay on Shiro’s face is obvious, and it makes Keith squirm a little with guilt. Shiro was, in fact, very clear about his intentions in his letters, and also when they met. It’s just that Keith had assumed it all to be window-dressing, the politesse of a well-bred ruler who is still inevitably going to get what they want.

“Shiro, I want to be here,” he says before Shiro can open his mouth to do more than draw breath, “I  _ want _ the reunification. I would never have agreed if I didn’t.” He pauses, rubs his head against the pup’s. “But I don’t know you, and I don’t know what you want from me, beyond an expanded kingdom and someone on the throne at your side.”

It’s the truth, unvarnished and hard, and Keith thinks he might see in real time as Shiro’s dreams float away into the ether.

It hurts, more than Keith expected. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says, “I didn’t understand.” He takes a deep breath, and holds up a hand when Keith starts to respond. 

“I’ll make you an offer,” Shiro says then, and his tone is the one he uses in court, when passing judgment on a case. It makes goosebumps rise on Keith’s arms to have it directed at him, along with the full composure of the King staring down at him. “I will preserve the terms of the reunification as they are now, and with any future agreements we may make to them. You will ascend the throne as Co-Regent of Voltron, equal in power to myself, just as we’ve always said. But…” his mouth curls ever so slightly downward as he says it, “we will quietly annul the marriage, and dissolve all personal ties. You will be free to marry or not as you choose, and I will hold no bar to it, unless it should pose a threat to our nation.”

Keith gapes. It is, frankly, a ridiculous offer, and one Keith cannot imagine making in Shiro’s stead. To share his rule with no insurance of Keith’s fidelity, no stakes to keep them tied beside the simple trust that Keith speaks true when he says he believes in the reunification, it’s absurd.

Keith hasn’t managed to close his mouth by the time Shiro stands, makes him a deep bow, and leaves.

\--

_ Before _

“ _ My dear prince, _ ” the letter begins, and Keith has to set it aside for a moment, staring out the window at the forbidding peaks of the Galran range until his cheeks cool. King Shirogane ( _ please, call me Shiro, if we are to be wed _ ) is always so familiar with him, so… affectionate, and Keith is at a loss for how to respond. He knows his own letters, full of trade proposals and legal system reconciliations, are sorely lacking in what one might want to receive from their betrothed. What King Shirogane might want to receive from his future spouse.

Keith scowls, picking up the letter again. It’s been months; if King Shirogane wanted flowery prose and sweet endearments, he should have gotten himself engaged to Prince McClain or Prince Lotor instead. Besides, he’s had plenty of time to figure out what Keith’s like, and he still writes letters that begin with “ _ dearest _ ,” so that’s on him.

Keith sighs and picks up his quill. He’s been worrying lately about how some of their allies will take news of the engagement when it’s made public. Atlas and Marmora have similar treaties with most of their neighboring countries already, but the reunification will shift the power dynamic in their region, and it would be foolhardy not to expect that to elicit a response. Fortunately, Keith knows that both he and his mother and Shiro are on good personal terms with the ruling families of Altea, Daibazal, and Coabana, which helps. But he also knows that there were several native Atlassean candidates for Shiro’s hand, and Crown Prince Griffin of New Armorica had expressed interest in “an alliance” with Marmora more than once. 

There are so many details to be worked out, and comparatively little time in which to do it. Shiro has expressed a desire to wed at Midwinter, which is only months away. Keith has agreed, because he has no reason not to and many to compel him to move forward, but his anxiety grows as he considers the amount of work yet to do.

He dips his quill in the ink jar and begins.

\--

In the end, Keith makes his first real request of King Shirogane before the ink is even dry on the signed letter of agreement from his mother and the Marmoran ruling council. It’s selfish, perhaps, wanting a private wedding, but he does. He wants it because he wants time to finish working out all of the treaties in person, where he can discuss terms and agreements and considerations with King Shirogane in person, where he can take his measure and hear his thoughts without the barrier of paper and two weeks’ travel between them. He wants it because he wants to meet King Shirogane without the eyes of thousands upon them, so that he can see this man in person without the heavy mask of public royalty upon either of their faces. 

He wants it because he wants to look King Shirogane in the eye, and see if he can imagine building a life with him.

\--

The response, when it comes, is positive, and Keith thinks that he may detect a whiff of relief between the lines. It will all be arranged, Shiro tells him, a private ceremony with only his council and Keith’s retainers, then a small feast for the palace staff and resident courtiers. The letter is filled with reassurances about treaty negotiations and thoughts on celebrations to come, and the first details of what their lives together will look like in the first year; a tour of the freshly reunited country; court sessions; treaty signing festivals in every province. Shiro thinks of everything, and his enthusiasm bleeds through on every page.

Keith is grateful, deeply grateful, but as the date draws nearer for him to leave, he starts to lie awake at night. It’s too  _ much _ , Shiro’s joy, his excitement. No one has ever been this happy to deal with Keith; other nobles view him as taciturn and stubborn, too invested in the details of ruling and too little interested in the benefits. 

What if Shiro doesn’t truly care for Keith at all? What if all of this is just a ploy to build a bigger, safer, more successful country to rule? Keith could hardly blame him, really, if that’s the case - Keith’s doing this to benefit his own people, after all, would do anything for them if asked. Why should Shiro be any different?

It makes more sense in the end, Keith decides, than King Shirogane genuinely wanting anything to do with Keith; no doubt he views his own personal life as a worthy sacrifice for the power that will come from ruling New Voltron. And rule he will - in spite of all the promises to make Keith Co-Regent with him, the majority of the territory will have been Shiro’s, will have pledged loyalty to the Shirogane family for generations. They’ll have no reason to accept Keith as anything other than a figurehead, a trophy of their own king’s conquest. 

Keith rolls over in bed, burying his face in the pillow.  _ It doesn’t matter _ , he tells himself shortly,  _ it’s what’s best for Marmora. It doesn’t matter _ .

\--

_ Now _

“Sir Holt, a word if you have the time?”

Matt Holt looks up at Keith in surprise, but quickly dusts off his hands and turns to give Keith his full attention. “How can I help you, Your Majesty?” Matt gives a bow, and Keith squirms. Atlas seems to stand on formality much more than Marmora ever did. 

“Keith, please,” he corrects, and Matt smiles warmly, but his eyes are calculating. 

“To what do I owe the honor?” he asks, and Keith can see why Matt is Shiro’s oldest and closest friend. There’s nothing that could give any type of offense, and yet there is just enough in his body language to show that he is doing Keith a favor, and just enough hidden shrewdness in his eyes that Keith knows that Shiro will hear of whatever may pass in this conversation that Matt deems important. 

It’s good, Keith thinks, to know that Shiro has had such stalwart support as he has seen from the Holts. It likewise speaks well of Shiro as a ruler that the most influential family in his realm cleaves close to him both personally and politically, rather than jockeying against him for influence.

“I’d like to speak with you about Shiro,” Keith tells him, because to elicit honesty it’s good to lead with honesty. He’s been here two months now, and he knows next to nothing about Shiro besides his own few direct experiences with the man. It’s time he got new information.

“Ah,” Matt nods, “perhaps you’d like to take a stroll around the private courtyard? I was preparing to meet my sister for lunch; she was raised with Shiro as his foster-sister.”

“That sounds… very nice,” Keith agrees, and is vaguely surprised to find he means it. He knows exactly where Matt means, he’s had free rein of the grounds since his arrival and had wasted no time in exploring thoroughly. The place Matt is intending is both lovely and private; none of their conversation will be overheard.

Matt puts away the practice weapons he’d been cleaning and grabs a basket that Keith hadn’t noticed from the corner before tossing Keith a wry look. 

“We’d better get going,” he says cheerfully, leading the way out into the gardens. “One doesn’t keep my sister waiting.”

\--

Lady Katherine Holt is a person whom Keith had seen before, but only in passing. She’d been present at their wedding, as had Matt and their father, and Shiro has seen her engaged in passionate conversation with other nobles resident in the castle, or training with her brother on the practice field, but he’s never had the opportunity to interact with her personally.

He’s beginning to realize that he has been remiss.

“You want to know about Shiro,” Lady Holt says to him from where she sits sprawled out on the blanket, her trousers filthy and her hair a riot of chestnut waves spilling around her head. “Why?”

“ _ Pidge _ ,” Matt groans, but Keith waves him off.

Keith takes another bite of his sandwich, considering his answer. It’s against his nature to be so up front with people he doesn’t know, hasn’t known for years. But these are two of Shiro’s most trusted friends, basically family members. If Keith can’t trust them, then neither can Shiro, and Keith can’t find it within himself to believe that either Holt holds anything but admiration and devotion to their brother and King. 

“Because I don’t know what to make of him,” Keith says finally, and Pidge nods sharply, as though that’s what she had expected.

“Say more,” she demands, digging out a handful of olives and popping them into her mouth. “Tell us what you want to know.”

“Is he…” Keith pauses, trying to distill what he wants to know down into words. “Is he an honorable man?”

It sounds trivial, but he means it, and they seem to understand implicitly the scope of what he’s trying to get at.

“The most honorable,” Matt replies immediately, and Pidge nods, mouth full. “From the time he was a tiny child. It’s why everyone adores him; even his detractors can only ever disagree with him on policy or questions of politics, because no one would ever believe that Shiro has anything other than the best interests of his people at heart, or that he would act in any way other than befitting his status.”

“Ah,” Keith’s heart falls, and he can feel his face go with it. It’s as he suspected, then, though better than he feared. Perhaps Shiro is not as interested in the power that comes of increasing the size of his reign, but it’s still nothing personal. “I see.”

“No,” Pidge says, kicking at him with a toe, “I don’t think you do. Shiro’s a human, Keith - just because he would never do something that would bring harm to his people doesn’t mean that he can’t see where his own interests and that of his country align.”

Keith lifts his eyes, watching her face closely. “What do you see to be his own interests?”

Matt flings himself backward onto the blanket, groaning theatrically. “Keith, listen. Shiro is a noble and just and brilliant king; you’ve been here long enough to know that.”

Keith nods in agreement, eyes still on Pidge, who’s suppressing a laugh via filling her mouth with more olives.

“But!” Matt waves a finger in the air, rolling onto one elbow and scowling at Keith. “He is also a ridiculous and incurable romantic who has been in love with you since the moment he first laid eyes on you, and if I have to listen to one more whine about  _ Matt, why doesn’t Keith like me _ , or  _ Matt, Keith’s so pretty, did you see the way his hair curls in the back _ , or  _ Matt, do you think Keith’s favorite flowers are purple or red _ , I will quit my post and voluntarily send myself to the Galran range in penance.”

Keith can feel himself gaping like a fish, and Pidge dissolves into giggles at his side. 

“Since… the wedding?” he asks, feeling suddenly unmoored. Shiro’s in  _ love _ with him? Shiro’s been courting him, rather obviously, but Keith had chalked it up to wanting to present a united front to the country and make for an easier personal connection, nothing more.

“Oh  _ no _ ,” Matt corrects, and Pidge laughs harder, “since he first laid eyes on you.”

“Oh,  _ Matt _ ,” Pidge coos, kneeling up on the blanket, hands clasped together as she bats her eyes. “I saw the most  _ beautiful _ boy while I was traveling with your father! He had black hair, and his face was,” she gestures vaguely, “and he could  _ fight _ !”

“Oh,  _ Pidge _ ,” Matt returns, swooning into her lap, “the Crown Prince of Marmora is so  _ kind _ , and so  _ generous _ , all the nobles say so! He helped Princess Allura with their flooding issues, and he gave puppies to Prince Lotor, and they say he goes door to door in Marmora handing out gifts at the festivals, just because he wants to!”

Keith can feel his face heating, knows his cheeks must be flaming. “I don’t… what.”

“Keith,” Matt says, suddenly serious, “Shiro got a crush on you when he was still in his teens, and it hasn’t let up since. He’s entirely sincere about the reunification of Voltron, always has been - he does truly believe it is the best for the country, don’t mistake that.”

“ _ But _ ,” Pidge says, leaning in, “but from the moment you started writing him back, he’s been smitten. He’d give you the moons on a platter if you asked him.”

Keith shifts on the ground, trying to reconcile the gifts, the pleasantries, the overwhelming courtesy Shiro has shown him with the concept of sincerity. Gods, the letters Shiro had sent him, the lines dripping with enthusiasm, every question about what Keith might want, or what he thinks, or how to meet his needs. It’s overwhelming, and Keith thinks he might need a moment to process what it could mean.

“Thank you,” he says, inclining his head to the brother and sister before him, “I sincerely appreciate your counsel.”

“Any time, Keith,” Matt tosses off a casual salute, eyes as sharp as always.

“Don’t leave him hanging,” Pidge says, and it’s a command, cementing Keith’s assessment of her as the more powerful of the two, despite her small and youthful stature. “He deserves better than to be toyed with.”

It’s a warning, generously given, and Keith nods, bowing lower than necessary to them both.

“I won’t,” he promises, and takes his leave.

\--

_ Before _

The first time Keith Kogane remembers seeing Crown Prince Shirogane Takashi was when he was about five. The prince would have been maybe not quite ten, and he was accompanying his grandfather on a diplomatic tour, visiting all of the neighboring countries to Atlas.

The palace had been in an uproar for days, scrambling to make ready. Old tapestries were trotted out and re-hung, the guest quarters were aired and re-furnished. Keith’s mother broke apart several of her necklaces and sold the jewels on the black market to pay for enough food that there would be no hint of the effects of the decade-long famine, and so she could pay and feed the extra workers they would have to hire for the visit.

By the time the Atlassean party arrives, Keith is expecting practically a god descended from on high because he can’t imagine what else would warrant such a fuss. And King Shirogane Ryou does not disappoint - he’s a tall, broad, imposing figure, with stark white hair and kind, dark eyes who carries himself in such a way that he radiates gentle but unbendable authority.

Crown Prince Shirogane Takashi, though… Keith peers out at him from behind his mother’s skirts. Keith’s been pressed and dressed and lectured on good behavior until all he can do is stand straight and silent, one hand buried in the wide folds of his mother’s loose trousers, and stare.

Crown Prince Shirogane Takashi is just a boy, Keith notes with amazement, he’s just a kid, like Keith! Older, yes, and more dignified, but still - there are nerves visible in his face, and he trips a little on the carpet as he makes his bow to Keith’s mother. 

Crown Prince Shirogane Takashi is not a god at all, Keith thinks, but a boy, just like him.

\--

It’s ten years before Keith sees him again, and they’re teenagers now, Keith struggling to hit his growth and Shiro nearly fully grown into his height, though not yet filled out to his grandfather’s breadth. He’s fighting in an exhibition in Altea, and Keith remembers absently that Princess Allura of Altea is said to be great friends with Crown Prince Shirogane, which must be why he’s here. 

Shiro’s fighting is magnificent, all clean lines and well-directed powerful thrusts. His reach is impressive, and his thighs could crack a man’s skull. He completes a match with a longsword, defeating his opponent handily, then runs through a series of complicated forms with a staff before racing through another match with a short sword and a dagger, pinning his opponent and making them yield in under a minute. 

He’s beautiful, and Keith itches to take him on, to press his slight weight against Shiro’s broad chest and make him yield, to see if his own speed can outrace Shiro’s long reach. 

Shiro stands, pulling off his helm and laughing, his dark hair stuck up all over his head with sweat and the sun gilding his tan skin. 

Keith bites his lip, lost.

\--

Two years later, and Crown Prince, no, Keith corrects himself,  _ King _ Shirogane has filled out. He’s the image of his grandfather as a youth, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled, the very picture of royalty in his silver clothes and long, white cape. 

The crown sits perfectly on his brow, but the face below it is shot through with grief, and Keith hurts to see it. 

King Shirogane Ryou had been old, no question, and it is not unexpected, but Keith thinks of Shiro now, no parents, no grandparents, and hugs his mother a little more tightly before he departs to attend the state funeral and coronation. His mother is in the midst of an important negotiation with Coabana and cannot leave, and it will be Keith’s first diplomatic outing without her. 

The funeral is opulent and regal, as befitting a king who ruled for the better part of four decades, and the mourning of all the country and the court seems entirely sincere, which Keith finds impressive. King Ryou must have been well-beloved indeed that there is no begrudging the mandatory three days of business closure, that there are no whispers against the youth and inexperience of the new king.

Shiro’s coronation is equally grand, and Keith can’t help but look at the tables groaning with food and calculate how many crown jewels Marmora would have to sell in order to set out a comparable spread. 

He thinks he might feel bitter about it, if it weren’t so clear how miserable the new King Shirogane is. He puts on a good face, shakes the hands of all who approach him, nods solemnly when condolences are offered, but the cracks are there. His eyes are red and Keith can see that little of this is registering, doubts that Shiro will remember much of this event later on.

Keith slips into the kitchens after the feast and loots them thoroughly, loading up his saddlebags with preserves and salt meats that will weather the week-long ride home. Atlas will never miss them, but the border folk of Marmora will be grateful.

\--

When his mother approaches him with the news that King Shirogane has sent her a letter inquiring about her thoughts on reunification and on the eligibility of her son for marriage, Keith is, in a word, shocked. 

Reunification is a pipe dream they’ve shared for years, the idea of rejoining the two kingdoms and bringing prosperity to their own land a fantasy held close when another year comes and goes with little rain and less food. To marry the king seems a very small price to pay for the betterment of his people, especially when he lies in bed at night and remembers Shiro on the tourney field, head thrown back and laughing in the sun.

By the time they meet in person on their wedding day, Keith has long since decided that it’s too good to be true, that there’s no way that Shiro can want more than a political marriage at best, and he steels himself as best he can against the blatant sincerity in the handsome face that bends to kiss his hand.

It’s not enough - Keith falls anyway.

\--

_ Now _

_ To my mother and my queen, _ Keith begins, and then has to scratch it out. It’s not true anymore; Krolia is still his mother, but he now outranks her, in technicality. As part of the agreement, she has accepted a role as Queen Mother and as a member of the ruling council, along with Kolivan, and for the first time in his life, she is not his monarch. 

Still, it feels wrong to address her any other way, so he writes the line again, stubborn and too full of feeling to want to abide by technicalities. There’s no one whose counsel he trusts more than his mother, no one to whom he can pour out his whole tangled heart and worried mind and trust that not only will she take him seriously, but that she will advise him with his own best needs at heart.

He takes a breath and begins to write.

Her reply, when it comes two weeks later, is succinct.

_ My dearest son, _ she writes,  _ I understand your doubts and commend your willingness to evaluate all possible reasons for any alliance or diplomatic maneuver. However, I must also remind you of the folly of getting too lost in the weeds while looking for answers: sometimes, even in the world of royalty and politics, the simplest answer is the correct one. In this case, I have never known King Shirogane to be anything other than straight-forward and honorable, as much with regard to his intentions toward you as in anything else.  _

_ My son, consider the premise that your husband sincerely loves you, and re-evaluate his actions in such a light. I suspect you will find your conclusions agreeable. _

_ Your loving mother, _

_ Krolia _

\--

“Shiro,” Keith says, the name foreign on his tongue with how few times it’s crossed his lips, “I need to speak with you.”

“Of course,” Shiro answers him easily, his eyes unreadable in the dim light of the new day. The rolling meadows of the capital province’s territory unfold behind him where he stands on his personal balcony, lush and green with spring’s new growth. Keith can’t help but think of the dry scrub that surrounds the Marmoran palace. It reminds him why he’s here. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Shiro moves to re-enter the room, but Keith steps toward him instead, crossing the room and taking a position against the rail of the balcony looking out. He can see the Galran range in the distance, can hear the birds in the royal gardens beginning their morning songs. Maybe it will be easier if he doesn’t have to face Shiro, doesn’t have to see the concern in those intelligent eyes.

“I owe you an apology,” Keith says, and Shiro doesn’t answer him when he pauses. Keith’s grateful– Shiro denying the reality of it would make his gesture feel less sincere. “I have treated you poorly, and behaved badly, and for both those things you have my sincere apologies.”

Keith turns and gives a full court bow, one of a lesser noble seeking favor from a ruler, and Shiro's hand catches at his elbow to pull him upright.

“Your apology is accepted,” Shiro says easily. “Thank you.”

Keith waits, but there is nothing further forthcoming. “That’s it?” he asks, scowling, and Shiro shrugs.

“What do you want me to do, lock you in the dungeons?” Shiro’s face is thoughtful, but not open, and Keith never thought he would miss the complete honesty of expression with which Shiro had regarded him in those first few days. “I appreciate and accept your apology. I’m sure you had your reasons.”

Keith nods, turning away again to stare out into the distance. “The first time I saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” Keith mutters, and Shiro snorts.

“At the wedding? You hardly looked at me.”

“No,” Keith sags onto the balcony rail, trusting it to hold him up. “We were children, and your grandfather came to Marmora on a diplomatic visit. You were with him.” 

Shiro’s face brightens. “I remember that trip! I hadn’t realized you were old enough then to be involved.”

“I wasn’t, not really,” Keith says, shrugging. “I was there for the formal presentation of the Atlassean delegation and then sent back to the nursery, but I remember you.”

“What do you remember?” Shiro seems curious, and Keith exhales an uneasy breath. 

“You seemed… human. We had worked so hard to pull together everything for the royal visit, I thought you and your grandfather must be like gods.”

“We weren’t?” Shiro asks, and Keith can hear the amusement in his tone. He scowls.

“Your grandfather was. But you were just a boy, just a kid like me, someone who looked nervous and tripped on the carpet runner when you walked. I couldn’t believe it.” He hears Shiro chuckle faintly beside him, and presses on. “But Shiro, you have to understand - that was the first time I saw you, but it was also the first time I knew what it meant that Marmora was poor.”

He turns to gaze at Shiro, watching as the early light strikes the furrow in Shiro’s brow. 

“You say I must have had my reasons, and I did. Nothing comes  _ easy _ to Marmora, not in my lifetime, and barely in my mother’s. You…” he gestures vaguely at Shiro’s person, “this…” he waves a hand to encompass the palace and surrounding grounds, “it’s all too much. It’s not believable, it’s too good to be true. Why would someone like  _ you _ , someone who has  _ this _ , want anything to do with me? With us?”

“Because reunification benefits both nations,” Shiro starts, and Keith nods.

“Right. But it benefits mine far more than yours, so what would you stand to gain beyond some mining rights and additional military?” 

“Don’t discount the Marmoran military,” Shiro smiles wryly, “but also it serves to quell an increasingly unhappy and vocal faction of my own country, as well as securing a stronger border. 

“Sure,” Keith agrees. “So at first I thought you really  _ were _ just after reunification, and marrying me was a small price to pay for the greater good of your nation. And Shiro, that would have been okay. But you kept  _ pushing _ , and you seemed to want it so  _ much _ , all I could think was that you must have a more personal stake in it, but I couldn’t figure out what that would be.”

“You,” Shiro answers simply, and Keith ducks his head.

“But Shiro, no one’s ever been interested in me for anything beyond my fighting skills or my rights to the throne. You have to hear me when I say that I didn’t even consider that could be it.”

“What did you think?” Shiro asks, and his voice is so gentle, so kind, it makes Keith want to cry. 

“I thought you must either want to avoid marrying someone you intensely disliked but were being pushed toward, and this was the best argument you could come up with as to why you couldn’t.”

“..or?” Shiro prompts, and Keith tucks his chin.

“Or that you were a power-hungry egoist, happy to put up with me in order to expand your kingdom and influence.”

“Ouch,” Shiro says, and it’s said with a laugh, but Keith can hear the genuine hurt that laces through it. “And what do you think now?”

Keith lifts his chin and turns, catching Shiro’s eye and holding it. “I think that I have been in error, and presumptuous in my judgments out of fear and learned defensiveness.” He drops his head again, looking out into the distance. “I only hope I have not so offended you that it will harm the reunification.”

Silence falls between them, and Keith resists the urge to squirm uncomfortably, waiting for Shiro to say something, anything.

Finally Shiro clears his throat, and Keith looks back, fists tight with nerves. 

“Crown Prince Keith Kogane,” Shiro starts, and holds out a hand, “will you trust me?”

Keith lets his fingers grip back and nods once, sharp. It goes against all of his instincts, but Shiro has yet to do anything but earn that trust, day after day after day. The look on Shiro’s face softens with relief.

“Keith, I have loved you since I was nineteen and saw you trounce a dozen men twice your size in a mock battle. I admire your skill; your stamina; your sharp dagger and your sharper wit.” He pauses, and Keith struggles to remember to breathe. “I know the devotion you show to your country, to  _ all _ of it, from the poor to the rich, from the highest mountain clans to the border families forcibly separated by our ancestors. I admire your keen mind and your dedication to considering every problem and finding a solution. I  _ treasured _ the letters you sent me because they showed me a man who was invested in creating a better world for those who depend on him, who wanted an ally to work with and call upon in the difficult tasks of doing right by his people.” Shiro takes Keith’s other hand, his eyes wide with sincerity, and Keith’s heart feels like it’s trying to choke him. 

“I would like your leave to court you, and, if you become agreeable to it, to take you as my husband to rule at my side, equal in all things,” Shiro pauses, looking briefly away. When his gaze meets Keith’s again, it’s strangely hesitant. “Equal in all things, and beloved.”

Keith holds Shiro’s gaze, lifting Shiro’s hands to his mouth, first one, then the other, pressing a kiss to each.

“My king,” he says, his voice thick, “you have my leave.”

\--

_ Then _

“Is it ready?” Shiro’s voice is soft from behind him, and Keith looks over his shoulder, smiling fondly at his husband where he stands in his formal robes, clean lines of black and white falling to the floor, outlining the width of his frame and emphasizing his height.

It’s the first anniversary of the small ceremony held in Shiro’s receiving room, and they’re due to appear before the public shortly to be honored with a parade and a feast and a ball. Keith’s own robes echo the design of Shiro’s where they swirl around his feet, black accents on a red foreground, both of them crowned with gold.

Still, there’s a small matter of business to take care of first. 

“It’s ready,” Keith tells him, pushing the handwritten contract toward Shiro and picking up a quill. “It’s all in there; the bits about never leaving you alone with General Sanda for longer than fifteen minutes, and about not attempting to match First Commander Kolivan in his drinking.”

“And the part about never going to bed angry? And how if one of us is gifted Coabanan sweets, that means we’re both gifted Coabanan sweets?”

“Right here,” Keith taps the page. “Right next to the agreement to dance at minimum every third dance together at every ball for the rest of our lives.”

Shiro smiles, and it’s like the sun comes up in their quarters; it’s a warmth Keith can feel on his face, in his bones, as his husband leans in to kiss him.

“Sounds like it’s all there,” Shiro says, and plucks the quill from Keith’s hand to sign, dripping the wax and pressing his seal to the bottom. “Your turn.”

Keith takes the quill and Shiro’s hand, signing his name and pressing his own seal next to Shiro’s.

“There,” he says, something in his heart feeling fully settled for the first time in his life as he stands next to his husband, staring at their marriage contract. Not the official one which lives in the archives, but a personal one, just for them. “Shall we?"

“Come,” Shiro says, tucking Keith’s hand up under his arm and pressing a kiss to Keith’s temple as he guides them toward the door, “beloved.”


End file.
